


The Quest of Many

by sopharra



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Bisexual Jacob Frye, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Homosexuality, M/M, Minor Evie Frye/Henry Green, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 11:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12341736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopharra/pseuds/sopharra
Summary: In the aftermath of defeating Starrick and the Templars of London, Evie Frye has left to India with her husband Henry Green leaving Jacob Frye alone to carry out weeding the left Templar groups still lurking. However, with not much to do except for killing the odd target - Jacob is able to process the awakening that Maxwell Roth had planted in him and meets someone special at the exclusive all-male club that Ned Wynert had invited him to.





	1. The Thought and the Meeting

1867, 18th February:  
In an alleyway of Whitechapel, all looking the same yet all holding different stories if you looked close enough, at around ten at night, Jacob Frye pulled his blade out from the throat of a dying, heavy body with a jolt and let it slide down the piss covered wall. The body was that of a man. The man still moved for a few moments as he clutched at the hole in his throat which was spurting blood - it looked as if someone was pumping water with the virtuosity it was coming out in. He looked up at the gruff assassin that towered over him and tried to gasp for breath but it was impossible with the blood that poured out of both his mouth and throat - he tried to reach for the assassin's coat which was the last minute, pointless attempt to...to what? Jacob didn't know what the man before him thought he could possibly do to the healthy assassin whilst he was seconds from death with no-one able or even willing to help him. When the man finally died, Jacob wiped his dripping crimson covered blade on the coat of the body to clean it.

The man was named Gregory Baldry. He was a balding forty-eight-year-old and had looked like a completely decent chap - a man who no-one ever spoke a bad word of. He was a respected lawyer, husband, and father by day yet a monster in the night. Gregory owned a secret brothel near Miller's Court. It was a brothel for dirty old men who liked little children and so Jacob Frye felt no guilt sticking a sharp blade through that pervert’s lungs and throat. This was one of Jacob's kills that actually gave him extreme satisfaction - the satisfaction that the monster called Gregory Baldry has been sent to hell where he can no longer hurt living innocence. Not only was Gregory Baldry a degenerate in the sick abuse he put poor children through but also in his ideology - he was a Templar. Even with the victory the Assassin's had achieved over the Templars with killing Crawford Starrick, it would never stop the Templars lurking in every corner of every country in the world. Jacob knew that and it did sometimes make him question why he carried on. Was it because of his sister Evie? Or to prove his father wrong? Or was it another reason? Jacob brushed the pondering question of his existence aside and strolled down into the darkness of the alleyway, away from the lit street lamp and bumbling brothels and pubs. The question had struck him whilst he had just killed his target and Jacob couldn't fathom why and this bothered him. He decided that he wanted to get drunk at his "home" tonight, alone as always, Jacob pitied himself.  
"Have a good night, Greg", Jacob called back to the dead man with satisfaction.

Jacob, clutching a bottle of cheap red wine, finally made it to his Whitechapel lodgings, fitting the key into the old wooden door's keyhole and gave it a sharp jolt since the bloody thing was stiff and the key had seen better days. Wine was wine to Jacob, he didn’t care for what it tasted like as long as it did the trick of getting him pissed. He placed the bottle of booze on the small, unimpressive table, pulled his soot coloured leather coat off his shoulders with a groan and hanged it on the coat hanger as well as his top hat. The assassin no longer sported his original dishevelled look that he had arrived in London a year ago – Evie had made sure of that by buying him many different outfits before sailing off to India with her handsome Indian husband, Henry Green. The sophisticated new looking clothing his sister had forced him to have looked out of place hanging in the wardrobe of the dump Jacob had found himself in. Ok, dump was maybe too harsh of a word – it was alright but much more simple and characterless than their family home in Crawley. If it was up to Evie, Jacob would also shave his facial hair too but too bad for her she is too far away, Jacob thought to himself with a smile. But his smile changed from happy to sad – it could be seen in his eyes. Truth be told, he missed his sister a great deal – even the nagging and that stern, crinkle between her brows and the tight-lipped look she made when Jacob had said something inappropriate. Evie had always managed to learn fight before him and made fewer mistakes when doing it. Although she wasn’t perfect – being the favourite child and being almost perfect meant that she dealt with failure badly and this was shown in her short temper when things didn’t go her way.

Jacob grabbed the dark green bottle that was sitting on the table waiting to be drunk and plonked himself into the old armchair of the lodging, opened it and took a big swing. The red liquid that he hoped would intoxicate him, covered his taste-buds – the stuff tasted vile but at the same time delicious. Jacob remembered drinking with Maxwell Roth. He had not told Evie the full truth of his friendship with Roth and neither did he think he ever could. Jacob had felt odd around Roth – not like he normally felt around other men or at least that he could remember. It’s as if Roth had sparked something inside of him, something he knew he had deep inside. Jacob took another swig at the bottle and a final one before leaping up, deciding to do something. He was bored and he wanted to something interesting. Ned Wynert had told him about a secret exclusively male club in a secluded area of Whitechapel whilst bestowing a knowing look to Jacob as if the American knew something about the assassin that he himself didn’t. It was Friday and Ned would be there tonight; he liked Ned. He was witty and charming, just like Jacob himself. Jacob removed his gauntlet, gun and his other weapons apart from a pocket knife – he couldn’t be completely unarmed, it was Whitechapel after all. After removing all his assassin gear (apart from a knife in his coat pocket), Jacob pulled his coat and boots back on. He was lucky that no blood had touched seeped into his waistcoat or worse, his white shirt he wore under. Before he put the final touch, the top hat, on he looked in the long mirror standing next to the dresser and combed his dark brunette hair. Jacob also used two fingers to smooth is eyebrows, making sure all the hairs were going the same way. When he had finished, he stood there still for a moment in front of the mirror. He wasn’t sure about this adventure now. For the first time in a long time, Jacob felt nervous. What if there was a police raid and he got arrested? He knew that he could probably get away but what if he didn’t? Evie would be informed from India that her brother had been arrested for suspected buggery. Jacob realised the longer he stood in front of this old mirror, the more he felt like staying at home. No. He would go.

All the way to the given address which was not far from “The Ten Bells” pub. Jacob had been there often of course. Ned had described the club as something similar to a “Molly House”, however, he did not know what the hell that was but he assumed it was a slag for a brothel of some sort. Jacob had wonder who Ned was interested in since Ned had been quite open to Jacob that he had the body of a woman but felt like a man and was despite his breasts and gentiles, a man. Although Jacob didn’t completely understand just like the rest of the world didn't seem to, he didn’t mind and he didn’t care because Ned was his friend. Jacob stood opposite the door of the “Molly House” or whatever it was called. A street lamp illuminated two men who stood outside, one young the other maybe a little older, both brunettes in suits – one smoking a pipe and the other smoking a cigarette. They both gave a friendly smile to Jacob before the younger one spoke.

“Good evening sir”, he said, slightly eyeing up Jacob.  
“Good evening gentlemen, I am here to see a friend, Ned Wynert”, Jacob replied with confidence, handing over the invitation Ned had given to him, his heart thumping violently in his chest. The smile and confidence in his voice for once was fake – he was nervous again. What if these men were undercover police officers?  
The man studied it the paper, passed it back to Jacob and gave a gentle gestured with his hand to Jacob to the red door, granting him permission to enter.  
“I hope that isn’t the only reason you have stop by”, the younger man said with a hint of flirtation.  
Jacob smirked back at the man, who was handsome enough but the flirt was clearly more of a reassurance that Jacob was in the right place. 

Inside was not like any brothel Jacob had seen before. He followed the stairs opposite the door leading down to an almost cellar-like room – but it was not a cellar but a large, nicely decorated red themed room with clean smooth wooden flooring and elaborated detailed rug. The smell of cigarettes was not too overpowering and the lighting was also not too intense – giving the room a comfortable ambiance. There were sofa’s and love seats with men, young, old and middle-aged, of all colours chatting. Most had a glass of wine, whiskey or some other sort of alcohol in their hand whilst their other free hand was resting on another man’s knee, thigh or even wrapped around their waist as another man sat on his knee. All the men seemed to be groomed much better than Jacob was and that made him felt slightly out of place. He caught the eyes of maybe four men, all around his age of twenty. One was clearly East-Asian, most likely from China – he had smooth looking skin with a pair of dark brown eyes to match his almost black looking hair. Another had black skin with neatly shaved facial hair and perfectly shaped, soft looking lips. The third had pale skin, a distinctive Irish accent and freckles – he was cross-dressing it seemed as he was wearing a nighty. All three were stunningly handsome, but it was the fourth one, the blonde with high cheekbones, that looked at Jacob through the corner of his round blue eyes, that made the assassin cheeks begin to boil. Voices. He could hear noises coming upstairs – those must be the rooms that couples or threesomes retreat to when they want some privacy, Jacob thought. He also wondered whether he would be using one tonight.

“Jacob!”, someone called his name and Jacob jolted towards the loud voice.

When Jacob turned around, he breathed a sigh of relief – it was Ned. Ned, the short suavely dressed American with round glasses perched on his small button nose. He was at the bar on the other side of the room. He had a beer bottle in his hand and on either side of him was a tall, pale man and...a woman? A woman with dark brown hair tied in a stylish bun and a deep shade of red lipstick upon her thin lips. Jacob strode over to Ned who went straight in for a hug which almost picked the American off his feet.

“I glad you made it! Let me introduce you to my friends: Addick and Isabella. Addick and Isabella, this is my friend and business partner, Sir Jacob Frye”, Ned smiled, patting the Addick and Isabella, both taller than him, on the shoulder.  
“A pleasure”, Jacob smirked, shaking both of Neds friend’s hands. However, the assassin was still confused to why a woman would be in such a place. Isabella clearly read this look of confusion on Jacob’s face.  
“I am one of the few women allowed in this darling of a club. I am married to this one-”, Isabella started, gesturing to Addick, who was Swedish. “- but our marriage was one of convenience. We both prefer the company of our own sex. Luckily for me, some more women should be allowed in if we are able to find the secret flowers in this damn city. How about yourself, Jacob Frye? Here to discuss train designs with Ned or for other scandalous reasons?”.  
“To see Ned of course but I don’t object to anything that most would class as unseemly – as long as we are both enjoying it”, Jacob smirked. Isabella turned to her husband Addick and gave him an eyebrow raise. This comment seemed to delight both husband and wife – Jacob would fit in perfectly.  
“Well Jacob, it seems like you might get that opportunity. That beautiful blonde hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you entered”, Ned gestured with his beer bottle towards the onlooker. 

It was the man that made Jacob’s body feel a certain way that he hadn’t felt in a while – especially not with another man. Ever since Roth, he tried not to look at any man he found attractive for too long, just in case he felt that tang of desire again. But now, here, Jacob had a chance. The gorgeous man was lounging alone on the rosy sofa now, the man he was talking to previously had gotten up and left with another. Jacob ordered a beer, took a swig of it before he plucked courage of a different kind he was used to, and made his way to the mysterious blonde, taking a seat on the same sofa he was on.

“You’re not one of the usual’s, are you?”, the man said in a calm tone and flicked his eyes into Jacob's direction – taking a dainty sip from his delicious looking orange cocktail. There may have been a tad hint of flirtation in his tone – but Jacob was sure it was just the man’s lovely received pronunciation that made anything that he said sound kind to the ear.  
“Why would you say that?”, Jacob retorted.  
“Because you stand out – much more rugged than most men here…and I am pretty sure I would have noticed you if you had”

Jacob began to feel hot and so took a draft of his beer. He was not used to compliments by other men – the only ones he had received were from eyeing, giggling women or prostitutes trying to get some money or Maxwell Roth. Maxwell Roth had been the only man to compliment him in such a way. Now the assassin had much male attention on him…and he liked it.  
“Well, you are right I am not a regular Mr….um”  
“Clement Abbot – but you can call me Clement. The only people that call me Mr Abbot are giddy women that my father and mother try to set me up with”  
“What about Clem?”, Jacob smirked. He began to relax and become his usual cocky self. 

“You know I have never been called that. Maybe if the night goes well -” Clement said as he looked down with glistening eyes into his half-full cocktail glass. “– I might let you”, he finished, looking back up to meet Jacob’s hooded brown eyes which contrasted Clements round blue ones. Both men couldn’t look more different in appearance: Clement had a Greek shaped nose whilst Jacob’s was slightly hooked, Clement was cleanly shaven with short wavy blonde hair and neat dark brows whilst Jacob had unkept facial hair with head of straight dark locks and heavy brows to match. Clement’s innocent face did not match his words, whilst nearly everything Jacob said did. The assassin was also slightly bulkier in build whilst the other was slender. Jacob was about to speak but Clement spoke first.

“- That is of course if that’s what you want. We could just chat”, the fair-haired man reassured the brunette, blushing. There was the innocence, Jacob thought.  
“My name is Sir Jacob Frye”, the assassin leant back into the plush sofa.  
“Sir? My, my. I wouldn’t have guessed…no offence meant. I like your style of dress, although I don’t think I would suit me per say”, Clement gestured to his neat black suit with a slight laugh and Jacob joined in.

“I think we could try getting you out of those clothes and into something else but you look just lovely in that suit as it is”, Jacob flirted leaned in slightly to Clement (causing the man to blush even more) and then resumed back to his lounging position.

"You’d have to at least by me a drink first before I removed an of my clothing, Sir Frye”, Clement retorted.  
A moment of silence ensued as both men took a slip of their preferred beverage.

“Come outside with me for some fresh air?”, Clement said, breaking the silence. Without hesitation, Jacob agreed to.

Clement rambled about his family life and job - Jacob was grateful, how the hell would he explain that he killed Templars for a Creed of Assassins?

“ – and so since I am the only child, I am to take over the Abbot tea company when my father falls off his perch. It’s not how I would have it but one must please the family, mustn’t we?”, Clement finished, stamping on his cigarette. Knowing that Clement had finished his rant, Jacob finally spoke.  
“I guess that’s true”, Jacob replied. Both men were leant against the wall next to each other, a respectable few inches apart. “Doesn’t it get lonely, though, being an only child?”  
Clement sighed. “Very much so. I went to a boarding school young, made friends but then I lost them when I returned home. My father is a brute and my mother just complies – always disappointed in me in some way or another. Sometimes, I wonder if he somehow knows about me. I know if he did find out he would kill me”, the blonde said with a trace of sadness in his tone, before looking up into the smog-covered London sky. Jacob watched him and could tell that “father” was a difficult subject for Clement as it was for Jacob too. And for that fact, he felt an almost instant understanding of this man he had just met. The longer Jacob observed Clement, the more beautiful and slender he was.

“Well, shit”, Jacob laughed awkwardly, breaking the silence which broke Clement’s self-reflection. He began to laugh too and the assassin was glad for that – he never seemed to be good at deep, emotional conversations. The blonde turned over to lean his shoulder on the wall which also meant he moved closer to Jacob, knowing that fact of course.  
“Anyway, what about you? A bastard of a father, bitch of a mother? Which is it?”, Clement asked, a smile returning to his face. Jacob pondered for a moment, contemplating his answer.  
“My mother died when my sister and I were young. My father - “, Jacob stopped mid-sentence. He looked with his eagle vision, noticing movement in the other alley opposite – it was Templars. Of course, of course, the bloody Templars would be here to ruin the night. He honed into the sounds and the outline of the three figures

“Sir Frye?”, Clement furrowed his brows.  
“Let me walk you to your carriage, Clement”, Jacob beamed a smile and offered his hand out to the slender gentleman.  
“Such a gentleman”, Clement replied with a giddy tone, although Jacob could tell that he hadn’t forgotten Jacob’s sudden change of mood. Maybe, he wouldn’t care or maybe he would even like it, Jacob thought.

They reached the carriage, Jacob opening the door of the carriage for Clement and offering his hand to help him up the steps like a proper gentleman does for a lady – but Clement was not a lady. No. Would he mind though, being treated as one? Jacob didn’t know. As he said, he had only been with women and this is what he would do with them. He didn’t know how the formalities translate between two of the same sex but he was sure Clement did, and it seemed as if the handsome blonde did not object to this level of courtesy. Jacob stood at the door and just as the door was about to be shut, Jacob quickly halted it, a spontaneous idea came to him.

“I hope to see you again”, Jacob blurted out. “I mean…if you ever wanted to pop by my lodgings, I wouldn’t mind. After we got bored of this place we could retreat there for whiskey or wine if you wanted to”.  
Clement, stood hunched in the carriage doorway as he watched Jacob. He was so confident – but Clement knew that there was a sense of nervousness behind the rugged appearance. Not only that, he felt like there was something intriguing to Sir Frye.

“I would like that very much…Good-evening Sir Frye”, Clement said closing the carriage door. The driver made a click sound with his mouth and the horse began to trot down the uneven road – Jacob and Clement’s eyes locked for a few second until they could no longer see the other. Jacob felt it, in the pit of his stomach. The Templars were still close.


	2. Information and Insight

\----

“You have everything packed? You aren’t going to send me letters from India saying you have forgotten one of your boring books and come all the way back to get or better yet, ask me to bring it to you?”, Jacob said, looking around their train. It looked much barer now that Evie had removed all her possessions – her outfits, weapons, those damn heavy books and even the small pieces of jewellery that she owned. Most of them from previous admirers, one was their mothers and another was from Jacob when they were fifteen. Evie rolled her eyes as he teased her about her reading habits – it’s not her fault that Jacob found anything intellectual or something that required to use one's brain as boring.  
“For the one-hundredth time yes, Jacob! Stop worrying, ok? You know I me, I’ve checked multiple times”, Evie said, handing another leather suitcase to a man who loaded it onto the carriage. “If you are going to miss me, you can say it”, Evie jested.  
“Miss you? I am going to have the whole train for myself and I won’t have anyone nagging me about what I am wearing or policing what I say. It’s going to be swell without”  
“Well, there is Sargent Abberline for the policing of your antics and maybe for some of the stupidity that seems to come out of your mouth”.

The two twins were silent before Evie looked up and smirked at Jacob causing both to laugh. But once again silence ensured. It had finally dawned on Jacob. Evie was leaving for India for more or less good and from her face, it seemed like it had finally hit her too. Evie took a step forward.  
“Templars still remain in London Jacob, you can’t forget that. Whilst we defeated Starrick that doesn’t mean they won’t or aren’t re-banding. You must listen to the Master’s and when they tell you to take out a target you do it with care as I won’t be around to clean up. And…I don’t want you to die doing something stupid, especially when I am on the other side of the world. I don’t want…”  
She paused for a second, sucking on her bottom lip before she gently placed her hand on the side of his upper left arm.  
“I don’t want to get a letter telling me you have died whilst I wasn’t there to potentially stop it”.  
“What happens if I die from drinking too much and falling off a bridge-“, Jacob lowered his head, averting his eyes from hers with a forced smile. He saw she was getting emotional and he always felt awkward in an emotional situation. Humour was his weapon.  
“I am serious Jacob! Look at me and promise me”, Evie retorted sternly as she slapped the part of his arm she was holding, lightly of course.

Jacob obeyed his sister's command and met her eyes once again. He began to feel his eyes glaze – he didn’t want her to go.  
“I promise. But only because I don’t want you to worry about your little brother, not because I want to play by the rules”, he replied, still a tang of humour to his voice. Evie smiled at that – she knew he was going to keep the promise but couldn’t give away his humour in the process.

She took a second before she gripped his shoulder, pulling her brother in for a tight hug. Jacob instinctively wrapped his around her waist, feeling the tears prickle at his eyes with wanting to come out but he only let one escape as he held the others back. He didn’t want to let her see him cry – his father always told him that big boys don’t cry, especially in front of women. But this was his sister, did the rules still apply? Another thought came to the younger Frye twins mind. This was the last opportunity to tell his sister, face to face, what happened with Maxwell Roth. Telling her would bring up the obvious question of his attraction – the attraction to another man and Jacob didn’t know how to explain it to her. He liked girls like most other men he knew but was it possible to also be attracted to men at the same time? Maybe – it was possible. The Greeks and Romans were known for it – many would have wives but also fuck the odd boy. Shakespeare also had questionable sonnets – the majority dedicated to a young man whilst the few others to a dark-skinned woman. Obviously, nobody talks about such scandal but Jacob has read them and knows what the great poet was alluding to. King James I also seemingly likes the company of men whilst still loving his wife…

Jacob left one kiss on his sister's freckled cheek and a tight hug before she disappeared from sight on a journey to India.

\----

1867, Monday, 18th February:  
Thud.

“Bloody hell…Jacob! You need to stop jumping down from buildings out of no-where!”, Sargent Abberline bellowed, clutching his heart. For once Freddy wasn’t wearing one of his ridiculous disguises, Jacob noted but was admittedly slightly disappointed. Jacob knew that he would be having his smoke break in behind the police department building around midday.

“But your reactions are always so priceless, Freddy”, Jacob teased with a smirk. 

Abberline rolled his eyes. Although he Jacob could get on his nerves, he would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the brash assassin’s company.

“What is it that you want then?”, the Sargent sighed, knowing that the only reason that Jacob would drop in unannounced would be because he needs something such as information, most likely valuable to the Creed.

“Freddy! What makes you think I want something? Is it that unrealistic that I might actually want to spend sometimes with you?”, Jacob replied clutching his heart.  
“…you do?”  
“Well no, I do actually need an address of a person”  
“I knew it. Who do you need then?”, Freddy tutted, before taking another puff of his pipe.

“Clement Abbot. I don’t know his father’s name but-”

“You mean the son to inherit Abbot’s Tea Trading Company?”, Abberline interrupted. Jacob nodded.  
“Then yes. I have talked with his father Albert Abbot. A beast of a man, not to mention there seems to be something suspicious going on with the company but we don’t have any evidence to pull him in for questioning”

“Well thanks for the history lesson Freddy, can I have the address?”, Jacob replied. Underneath he was slightly concerned with what Freddy had reviled. Anything suspicious without a reason to pinpoint normally had Templar faintly written on it.  
The Sargent made a huffing sound before putting his pipe in his mouth, leaving his hands free to pull out his notepad and pen. He scribbled down the address, ripped the paper out of his pad and roughly handed to Jacob. Jacob looked to read the address – gosh Freddy’s handwriting was atrocious which made the assassin smirk a tad before he shoved the paper in his pocket.

“Thanks, Freddy”, Jacob winked and he began to walk away.

“It’s Sargent Abberline to you – and you are looking into the Abbot’s, aren’t you?”, Abberline questioned, making Jacob stop in his tracks and turn to face him.

“Of course,”, Jacob replied bluntly with a tilt of his head before he grappled away.

Turns out Clement lived in Westminster. Of course, he would, thought Jacob. The man’s voice oozed with sophistication and that received pronunciation. Jacob’s wasn’t completely “common” as the upper classed pricks would call it, but he defiantly had a pang of toughness to it.

The Assassin stood on the roof of the building opposite the Abbot’s grand looking house, observing the surroundings. The streets were much cleaner and he could not smell that much smog compared to the amount in the East End. He looked through to the upper window and seeing Clement, the beautiful blonde, writing at his desk. Jacob smiled, about to jump down until suddenly, the scene in the window changed. Clement jolted to look behind him – an older man had entered, he was making his way over to Clement who quickly stumbled out of his chair to stand. A look of fear and hands slowly reaching up from the sides of the blonde’s body. Smack. The old man, whose face was bursting with anger, had struck Clement’s on his right cheek. A gush of rage flushed through Jacob – he had guessed that the old prick was Clement’s father, Albert Abbot. Maybe it was the Assassin in him that hated seeing injustice or something else, but he couldn’t stand seeing the blonde’s broken look on his face. Eventually, after a few minutes of heated conversation between the two men, the older one stormed off. Jacob noticed that Clement’s father had white hair – it probably used to be blonde like Clement’s. He also had a similar nose but was not nearly as good looking. Freddy could wait with him finding out on Albert – Jacob wanted to get to Clement. After a while, he could see Clement leaving his room. This was a queue for Jacob to proceed to the ground. Without anyone noticing Jacob climbed down the building he was on and made his way to the Abbot’s house by foot since it was only across the street.

Jacob leant against the gate seeing that the blue eyes man had donned a sleek and expensive looking black coat and had not noticed him.

“Fancy seeing you hear”, Jacob said teasingly as Clement passed through the shiny gate, slightly startling the smaller man.

“I think I should be asking you that, considering I live here, Sir Frye”, Clement replied, his eyes gleaming and brightening at the sight of the brunette.

“Where you off to?”, Jacob asked curiously, leaning on the gate and edging towards him.

“Just going for a walk. Clear my head that’s all…”, Clement said, looking down to his left as if he was remembering what had just happened. “I wouldn’t mind some company though”, he added, a smirk returning to his face.

“I can manage that”, Jacob responded, his heart slightly fluttering bizarrely. Both began to walk.  
“You can maybe tell me how you found out where I live whilst we do”, Clement jested as he raised his eyebrows, flicking his eyes up to meet Jacob’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so late and quite short! I had another fanfiction that I need to put up because I was very upset by a Walking Dead death.


End file.
